Mayday
On May 1, 2006, I had been living in Isla Vista with Ricky and Heather for a few months. I was in my spring quarter at UCSB, freshman year, and since I had gotten a C+ in a writing course I didn't need to take the previous quarter, I was taking two English classes to prove myself, one of which was upper division. The upper division one was British Lit of the 20th Century, taught by a lovely older Irish gentleman, Enda Duffy. From the time I left school I would always spot him around campus, running in his old brown corduroys, trying to make it to the coffee stand before class started.
I'm one of those people that does not miss class. For anything. Even when I'm sick, even when I have a migraine and am projectiling former foods. So when I walked under the Pardall tunnel and entered campus, I was slightly surprised by the swirl of students and signs and shouting at 9 am.
That year, some public entity was trying to pass something to rid our godless state of illegal immigrants. They may be responsible for the food we eat (whether it be the cultivation or the cooking), keeping some of your houses clean, the movies you see, your lawns, your pools, your books, et cetera, but god forbid they cross over that imaginary line without a permit! It all came to a head on May 1 of that year, and many of the students, in protest to the bill, were telling everyone to not go to class.
Many students take this kind of thing and see it as a snow day. The day where they're just glad it's a holiday and see it as an excuse to stay home and sleep (let alone help protesting). Then there were the ones who took it very seriously, and fought for their cause.
So I'm in the middle of the mass of students, making my through, when one girl comes up to me and says, "I really like your shirt, but you should come join our cause". I was wearing my Kurt Cobain shirt, the one that says teenage in the background.
"Oh... thank you!" I said, slightly bewildered. Even after living with someone who was into Nirvana as much as I was, I still found it odd when a stranger commented on anything music-related. It made me smile a lot. I'd love to say that I just stopped then and there, picked up a sign, and helped them out with something I believed in too.
"I'm sorry," I started. "I can't be late to class!" And off I went.
I made the trip to the center of campus and found a several students outside the classroom, instead of inside. I peaked in; it was completely dark. Professor Duffy showed up, coffee in hand. The bell didn't toll at 10 like it was supposed to. The activists had somehow managed to shut down power for the whole campus.
We all gathered around the professor. "Well!" he said. "Ehm, as you know... I am an immigrant. And I believe very strongly that there needs to be more support at this time. It's a great country here, and those who wish to live here should be able to. We're all fighting persecution, in some way or another. So I'll see you on Wednesday!"
I was surprised; professors take their class time very seriously, especially on the quarter system when you get your students for 50 minutes three days a week for ten weeks, and then that's it. We all dispersed. I walked back through the tunnel, but I couldn't find the girl who commented on my shirt. The size of the mob grew and grew, and once more I slipped out of it and walked back to the apartment. I sat down with my roommates, and watched the protests in Santa Barbara and LA, and we talked about it for a little while before catching up on the rest of our work.
I hope next time I'm in a situation like this, I'll just be able to let my inhibitions go and join them. To forget about what I believe are my obligations as a student, and realize what my obligations are as a person, as myself. And to not let the anxiety of missing one class (albeit a damn good class) get to me.
I'm one of those people that does not miss class. For anything. Even when I'm sick, even when I have a migraine and am projectiling former foods. So when I walked under the Pardall tunnel and entered campus, I was slightly surprised by the swirl of students and signs and shouting at 9 am.
That year, some public entity was trying to pass something to rid our godless state of illegal immigrants. They may be responsible for the food we eat (whether it be the cultivation or the cooking), keeping some of your houses clean, the movies you see, your lawns, your pools, your books, et cetera, but god forbid they cross over that imaginary line without a permit! It all came to a head on May 1 of that year, and many of the students, in protest to the bill, were telling everyone to not go to class.
Many students take this kind of thing and see it as a snow day. The day where they're just glad it's a holiday and see it as an excuse to stay home and sleep (let alone help protesting). Then there were the ones who took it very seriously, and fought for their cause.
So I'm in the middle of the mass of students, making my through, when one girl comes up to me and says, "I really like your shirt, but you should come join our cause". I was wearing my Kurt Cobain shirt, the one that says teenage in the background.
"Oh... thank you!" I said, slightly bewildered. Even after living with someone who was into Nirvana as much as I was, I still found it odd when a stranger commented on anything music-related. It made me smile a lot. I'd love to say that I just stopped then and there, picked up a sign, and helped them out with something I believed in too.
"I'm sorry," I started. "I can't be late to class!" And off I went.
I made the trip to the center of campus and found a several students outside the classroom, instead of inside. I peaked in; it was completely dark. Professor Duffy showed up, coffee in hand. The bell didn't toll at 10 like it was supposed to. The activists had somehow managed to shut down power for the whole campus.
We all gathered around the professor. "Well!" he said. "Ehm, as you know... I am an immigrant. And I believe very strongly that there needs to be more support at this time. It's a great country here, and those who wish to live here should be able to. We're all fighting persecution, in some way or another. So I'll see you on Wednesday!"
I was surprised; professors take their class time very seriously, especially on the quarter system when you get your students for 50 minutes three days a week for ten weeks, and then that's it. We all dispersed. I walked back through the tunnel, but I couldn't find the girl who commented on my shirt. The size of the mob grew and grew, and once more I slipped out of it and walked back to the apartment. I sat down with my roommates, and watched the protests in Santa Barbara and LA, and we talked about it for a little while before catching up on the rest of our work.
I hope next time I'm in a situation like this, I'll just be able to let my inhibitions go and join them. To forget about what I believe are my obligations as a student, and realize what my obligations are as a person, as myself. And to not let the anxiety of missing one class (albeit a damn good class) get to me.